Leaked by Literature
by Crazy4Moony
Summary: There's one thing that doesn't fit the carefully constructed puzzle. One small detail that crumbles years of keeping it a secret, precious like gold, hiding behind their masks for fear of being burned. And Harry knows that the answer lies with the books.


Leaked by Literature

**Summary: ****There is one thing that does not fit the carefully constructed puzzle. One small detail that crumbles years of keeping the secret—keeping it between the two of them as if it were gold—years of dancing around the question for fear of being burned. And Harry knows that the answer lies with the books.**

It were the books. When Sirius proudly guided Harry, together with Ron and Hermione, through the redecorated house, keeping his bedroom for last, Harry noticed the books. Of course he also noticed the dirty socks over the back of a chair, the pictures of the Marauders up against the wall and something very _Sirius_ish about the atmosphere, but what really bugged him, were the books.

He didn't mention it, of course, feeling that perhaps "_Sirius, why are there books on your nightstand and floor_" would be a very silly things to ask.

But they were there, and it bothered him.

There were books on his desk, on the chair with the dirty socks, stacked against the wall with the pictures, littering his bedside table, and tumbling off it, fallen books lying on the carpet next to the bed, their pages rumpled and covers well-worn.

The only time Harry had ever seen Sirius with a book, was when Remus Lupin had arrived at the house late one evening. Sirius had brought on of the books from his own library – which he usually tended to avoid, so Harry had noticed – presenting it to the tired brunette with a pensively asked question: "Remus, was this the copy of Macbeth you were looking for?"

Actually, as far as Harry remembered, in all the time he had known Sirius, the man had never indicated he even knew who had written Macbeth. Harry knew Sirius could be refined when he wanted to, but he also knew that if pretending not to know who Shakespeare was would anger his parents, he would be as oblivious as he possibly could be.

The point being, that Sirius just wasn't the kind of man to snuggle up in bed one night with a good book. Actually, quite the contrary. Harry had walked into the living room many a nights while Remus Lupin sat in front of the fire, legs tucked under his body, cup of tea – lemon, mostly, Harry noted – in one hand, book in the other, with Sirius trying with all his might to distract his friend from the book. It was endearing to watch and Harry imagined Ron and he could end up like that too, when they were older; well, if one had been a bookworm and the other a hyperactive pup, that is.

Harry knew Sirius. Sirius was the guy that sang in the shower, the guy that came bouncing on his bed in the middle of the night to announce that first snow had arrived. He tried his best to understand how chess worked so he could play it with Ron, and he spent his afternoons playing Quidditch with the teenagers in the protected, vast area he called 'backyard', thought the name 'forest' would be better chosen.

He drank tea in the patio with Remus merely to indulge the younger man, and only wore a tie when Molly forced him to.

Sirius Orion Black was not, would never be, the kind that kept books close to his heart.

But than why were they found on every spare surface in his bedroom?

Early one morning, Harry decided to put an end to it. He would solve this mystery, even if that meant he had to wake up Sirius in order to do so.

Careful not to stir Ron from his sleep, he tiptoed out of the room, into the hallway. He made his way through the house – even thought it was dark, he could easily manoeuvre through the halls – until he reached his Godfather's bedroom.

Light from inside spilled across the hall, illuminating part of the wall eerily. Harry thought it odd, that Sirius would be up so early, and so he curiously moved closer, peering into the man's bedroom through the crack.

Inside, one Sirius Orion Black was asleep in bed, being roused tenderly by the nightlight. One Remus Jay Lupin was sat up straight against the headboard, deeply engrossed in a thick, leather-bound book.

Sirius groaned tiredly when the light continued to interrupt his precious sleeping pattern and turned onto his side slowly. Drowsily he opened his eyes, to find that the source of his distress was none other than the man sharing his bed. He struggled to reach out from his tight cocoon of blankets, entwined a hand with Remus', taking it from the book to his mouth, and planted a small kiss on his scarred palm. Remus smiled, though his eyes remained firmly locked on the old, faded words in his book, the story to enticing to halt his reading.

In answer, Sirius straightened so he could easily place his lips against the bare underarm as well, going up to the elbow. The blanket slipped down to reveal Sirius' bare chest, but he ignored it, moving up to lather nips on Remus' shoulder. When he nibbled at an old mark, Remus moaned quietly, his eyes falling shut – his scars were the most sensitive places of his body, crisscrossing his skin like they did, and the raven was known to use that information to his advantage on many occasions. Sirius grinned in victory, having won the attention he so craved, and carefully pried at the younger man's lips with his own, brining Remus' lithe frame down against his own body in an intimate embrace.

Later, when Harry finally thought it safe to stop running and catch his breath, he figured: _well _– as he remembered how Remus had blindly reached back, Sirius' hands up under his shirt and skirting down into his revealed boxershorts, the brunette depositing his book on the stack resting on his nightstand, causing the top books to slide off, the tower carelessly tumbling and adding to the books scattered on the floor, forgotten by their owner as the man stripped himself of his shirt, Sirius' hands sliding over the exposed tan flesh, their lips resuming a heavy liplock – _that concludes that._

**AN: I am for once, very proud of my summary. It makes this sound mysterious and such, telling exactly what is in-between the lines. Of yes. Pride is me.**

**I've a bit of a writer's block, and I wrote this in a mere hour or so. I hope it helps. And, of course, that it was at least a little decent! I wanted to post this ASAP, so I'm sorry for any spelling mistakes left! Please, feel free to leave any corrections in the review box!**


End file.
